


talk is cheap (and i've got expensive taste)

by akaiiko



Series: Zutara Month 2017 [3]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempt at Humor, Drinking Games, F/M, Falling in Love in Frat Houses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-14 22:41:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13017666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaiiko/pseuds/akaiiko
Summary: “It’s like Romeo and Juliet only with frat parties.” Katara might be drunk, but she’s still pretty sure she just met her soulmate.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _for zutara month 2017, day ten, spin the bottle_
> 
> in which we return to my regularly scheduled glorified shitposting. i wanted to do a silly frat au and this is where we’re at guys. also, katara & toph are bros. fight me.

Tomorrow morning is her final in organic chem. People call her curve breaker and she is. Preens with pride every time she gets her quizzes back with full marks while everyone else groans and slumps deeper into their seats. It’s not without effort though. The librarians know her by name. A corner table in the third floor stacks is unquestionably hers. Professors wish she wouldn’t come to their office hours quite so often. Tomorrow morning is her final in organic chem and she’s currently on her third shot of tequila.

“Maybe you should slow down, Sugar Queen,” Toph says. Shouts, really, because the bass has been turned up until its vibrations are in their bones.

Katara likes the vibrations. Likes the way tequila burns her throat and leaves her lips tingling like she’s just been thoroughly kissed. Likes how when she sways her hips to the music’s rhythm boys stare. Likes how she feels wild and carefree and young and vicious.

“Maybe I should have another,” she shouts back. Then laughs, too loud and neon bright, at the way Toph looks equal parts resigned and proud. Because this had been Toph’s idea.

Whatever Toph’s going to say—if it’s going to be encouragement or something else—gets lost as an absolutely massive guy who looks way too old to be a frat brother sits down across from them. “The Boulder,” he says in a voice that reminds Katara of the announcers of GranGran’s wrestling tournaments, “challenges you.”

Pale eyes focus on the source of the voice and Toph’s lips kick up into her signature smirk. “Got the cash to pony up?”

Like so many of Toph’s ideas, this one involved how to con people out of cash, because Toph’s nothing if not opportunistic. Tonight the scam is arm wrestling. It’s prime for a frat house because Toph is slender and female and blind while her opponents are…well, they don’t skip whatever day at the gym, that’s for sure. They don’t realize that Toph’s also strong and clever and fights dirty. So far she’s made about two hundred bucks.

“I’m gonna get more to drink!” Katara says. It’s fun watching Toph beat guys six times her size in arm wrestling but this buzz needs to keep going.

“If you’re not back in ten I’m going to come looking for you,” Toph says. She’s already got her arm in position and the crowd is starting the countdown. It’s nice that she thinks this way. So much of Katara’s life she didn’t have the kind of female friend who would cover her back and bail her out and punch guys in the nuts for trying to grind on her in the club.

Maybe later she’ll tell Toph how much she loves her. Once Toph’s had a few shots to celebrate her victories. Before then it’ll probably just result in Toph punching her. After then, they’ll cling to each other and stumble home to their apartment and put on a shitty action movie while eating ice cream out of the same tub. Do they have ice cream? They need to stop at the corner store just in case because she’s feeling mint chocolate chip and last time they bought strawberry swirl.

Somehow she’s in the kitchen. There’s a bunch of people crowded around the island, watching something in their center like it’s important, and she has the sudden thought that maybe they’re summoning a demon. Except she’s pretty sure— _pretty_ sure—that you wouldn’t want to summon a demon in a kitchen.

Tequila bottle’s missing but it takes her a minute to realize that. She shuffles through the bottles of hard liquor two more times before it clicks that it really is gone. Turning, she asks, “Where’s the tequila?”

“Over here,” someone answers. People around the kitchen island shuffle and she goes over because she _likes_ the tequila and she’s not afraid of demons. The hard edge of the granite counter top bumps her hip and she looks for the tequila only to see that its bottle is empty. Spinning. Landing on her. “Ohhhhh,” the same someone from before goes. Or maybe it’s someone different.

“Spin the bottle?” Katara doesn’t really require the clarification. Mostly she’s stalling because she’s pissed that they didn’t just tell her the tequila was gone. “What are we? Thirteen?”

No one gives her a real answer. They just laugh and jostle. One girl, coldly beautiful and narrow eyed, says, “You don’t have to play.” It feels like there’s a lot behind that statement. Especially because the people laugh more and jostle more violently. Katara’s starting to feel sea sick.

“Well who’s bottle is it?” If the other girl hadn’t said anything, Katara would’ve left, but now she feels contrary. Meets the eyes of anyone who’s willing to look her way.

Across the island, a guy raises his hand as if to say _guilty_. The thing is that he’s exactly her type. Messy hair, broad shoulders, imperfect smile. A wine red scar covers part of his face but she thinks it just goes with the rest of him. Because he looks like the kind of guy who can weather whatever life throws at him and then throw it right back. It’s fucking _hot_.

Maybe she says that out loud because for the first time everyone goes dead silent. The girl looks pissed. And the guy, well, he’s got a blush going on that suggests he’s not nearly as mysterious as he’d like to be.

Leaning across the island, she grabs him by the lapels of his leather jacket and pulls him into her. Their lips meet and it should be messier than it it. Teeth and spit. It is for a few seconds but then he cups her jaw in callused hands. Slowly he gentles the kiss. Gentles her. Katara lets him because she likes the way he tastes, like vodka and pomegranate.

Wolf whistles ring out as they pull apart. It’s not the tequila that has her lips tingling. Reluctantly she pries her fingers off his jacket and tries not to be as obvious as she must be. It’s okay because he’s just as reluctant as she is. A thumb touches her lower lip in a brief touch that sets her nerves on fire.

Suddenly she wants to be alone in a dark room with him. She wants to kiss him until they’re breathless. She wants to ask his name and his favorite memory from when he was eight. She wants to wake up with him. She wants to throw a snowball in his face and watch him splutter. She wants to tell him that she thinks he might be her soul mate.

“Get lively, Sugar Queen!” Toph bellows. An elbow lands right against her spine, sharp enough to make her yelp, before Toph’s hand closes around her wrist and starts pulling her for the back door.

Katara tries to dig her heels in. There’s no way she’s leaving before she at least finds out his name. “I’m Katara,” she tells him as they pass. Toph’s dragging her. Literally dragging. “Call me.”

Roaring noises come from the direction of the living room. Toph’s speed increases. They’re out the back door. People spill away from them as they run across the deck. It would probably hurt to resist now so Katara jogs along gamely and tries not to trip in her heels.

“Why are we running?” Katara yells. She’s breathless. She’s still sea sick. Or maybe just drunk sick.

“The Boulder wasn’t happy. I cleaned him out. Five hundred bucks, Sugar Queen. Five. Hundred.” It occurs to Katara that there’s not actually a way off the deck. By now she knows what that means. Toph lets go of her and vaults the deck railing. “C’mon!”

Groaning, Katara pulls off her heels and vaults the deck railing just as the Boulder bursts onto the deck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _for zutara month 2017, day fourteen, drinking games_
> 
>  
> 
> very slightly less shitposty because i had to make room for the feels. behold the glorious (ish?) conclusion to this two shot.

Completely obliterating the curve for her organic chem final despite having an epic hangover and a sprained ankle very nearly makes up for the fact he doesn’t call her.

“You didn’t even give him your last name,” Toph points out. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she suddenly lunges forward in a lightning round of jabs that pushes the sandbag back a few inches. Despite the effort her breathing remains even as she bounces back. “I don’t think you can blame this one on him, Sugar Queen. And I’m all for blaming guys.”

Truer words have never been spoken. Finishing the wrapping on her knuckles, Katara says, “My turn with the sandbag next.”

* * *

A few weeks into the next semester the Epsilon Kappa House catches on to Toph’s cons.

There’s not much they can do about it besides banning Toph and, by extension, Katara from attending their parties. Of course Toph and Katara only find that out when they’re told to leave at eleven at night during a kegger. Defiant to the bitterest end, Toph backs out of the house with both middle fingers raised. It’s a beautiful moment.

“Home?” Katara asks. It’s cold as balls out. The miniskirt she put on isn’t helping matters. Even if she did spend two hours getting ready, this isn’t worth it, and she wants to go watch Netflix until she passes out.

Cracking her neck, Toph says, “No. We’re going to the Lambdas.”

Which is almost a worse idea than wearing a miniskirt in February. “No,” Katara says. She wants to sound firm, but it’s ruined by her teeth chattering. Irony is somewhere in an Inuit girl being cold. “Toph, _no_.”

“Toph, _yes._ ” 

Lambda’s a fifteen minute walk to the exact opposite end of Greek Row. Technically they’re outside of Greek Row. A shadow frat. The kind that has all the best rumors about blood sacrifices and dead pledges and raging parties. Mysterious. Dangerous. Sketchy as fuck.

Somehow she’s a little surprised that it’s taken them until their junior year to make it here. Eventually they were bound to run out of frat parties to crash on account of Toph’s schemes. Maybe she should be grateful.

There’s a party going on. There’s always a party going on.

Within minutes Toph’s set up her usual arm wrestling game. It’s her favorite mostly because no one can beat her. Katara needs about eight shots to handle the music, the crowd, and the ever present scent of smoke. Also she might be resenting Toph for this. Just a little.

Katara walks into the dining room, or what she assumes is the dining room, keeping to the edges as she tries to make her way toward the kitchen. She glances through the crowd mostly because she’s curious what’s holding sway over a good twenty drunken college students. That’s how she sees the love of her life and the jerk ex boyfriend of her past down shots of vodka. They slam their shot glasses down on the dining room table in the same moment. Everyone erupts into drunken cheers. There’s a sizeable pile of shot glasses next to both of them.

The love of her life has the decency to notice her staring at him. He looks like he just got hit with lightning. “Katara?” he asks. It’s almost a yell, but he’s got a way of softening it. That’s another thing she likes about him. Feeling a little dizzy with the fact that he noticed her and remembered her name, she lifts a hand in a half wave and smiles.

Meanwhile, the ex leans closer to the love of her life so he can see her. “Katara?” he yells. There is no softening. The jagged line of her eyebrows brings back bad memories.

“Fuck _off,_ Jet.”

Without waiting for a response, she starts shoving her way through the crowd again. Heart beating in her throat she waits until the next round of cheers goes up and her hand’s closed around an opened bottle of tequila. Not much of a consolation but she takes it. Has to take it.

Knocking back nine shots in quick succession, her brain finally processes that she could’ve gone and dragged Toph out. Pulled the “I’m your best and only female friend you have to walk home with me so I don’t die” card. Now that the buzz has taken the edge off, she wonders if she should still do that, or if maybe she should go back to the dining room.

The decision is made for her.

She’s staring into her tenth shot when Jet comes swaggering up and into her space. “Hey, baby,” he says. Between the dining room and here, he managed to find a toothpick, which he’s chewing on. When they were dating she always thought he must have a whole pack of them hidden on him.

“No,” she says. Narrowing her eyes up at him, she dares him to try fucking with her. They both know how that ended last time.

Jet’s chewing pauses. “Baby,” he says. “God, you look pretty tonight. Pretty as a picture.” Low, coaxing, to match the way his hands reach for her hips like he’s going to pull her closer. It worked so many times during their short relationship.

Now it just ends with him stumbling back and swearing at the tequila in his eyes. Katara’s just tipsy enough to find it funny. Hilarious, even. One of her hands reaches out to grasp the counter to keep herself from collapsing to the floor in helpless giggles.

Someone’s at her back. Hands cup her elbows and lift her from her half collapsed position. Katara tips her head back and glimpses a firm mouth and dark scar. That’s enough to let herself fall back into him. He doesn’t even stumble back, just takes her weight and redistributes it, so mostly she’s tucked under one of his arms. Clutching at his tee with one hand, she says, “I think the tequila was spiked.”

* * *

Briefly she comes to. It’s cold on her legs except for where there are hands gripping her thighs. She’s wearing a leather jacket that smells like everything wonderful. Her face is mushed into the back of someone’s neck. Toph’s voice says, “I can’t believe she passed out on you.”

* * *

It’s four am and she’s in her bed. She’s still wearing his jacket. “It’s like Romeo and Juliet,” Katara moans. Her mouths feels like fuzzy caterpillars and she’s pretty sure if there was anything left in her stomach, she’d puke. Again. If she puked. Honestly, she can’t remember if she puked. “Only with frat parties.”

“Katara, they die at the end.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m dying now.”

* * *

An unknown number calls her three days later. Normally she wouldn’t bother answering but she’s waiting to hear back about a study abroad application so she picks it up with a cheery, “Hello, Katara Foster speaking!” Like a fucking well adjusted person who didn’t get blackout drunk three nights ago.

“I’m sorry it took me this long to find you but Katara I don’t know how to use Facebook and your blind friend made me go on a spirit quest with her in exchange for your number except it wasn’t your number it was your brother’s? Because our spirit quest sucked. I ended up having to go break your dad out of this biker bar with him, and then there was a riot, and now we all have matching tattoos. I might have told your dad about carrying you home. I think he expects me to marry you. And it’s a little soon for that but maybe we could at least do dinner while we’re both sober?”

“ _You’re_ the reason everyone’s been disappearing?” That’s not what she meant to say. Something scathing and witty would’ve been nice. Or at least a solidly aggravated _oh my god_.

An awkward silence. A cough. “Yes?”

Reaching up, Katara pinches the bridge of her nose. Inhaling deeply, she tries to sort through everything that brought her here, to this very moment. Fighting a lost cause, as they say. “Let me... Let me get this straight. You went on a spirit quest? With Toph?”

“Yes.”

“And went on a roadtrip with my brother?”

“Yes.”

“And got matching tattoos with him and my _dad_?”

“Yes.”

“All to get my number because you couldn’t figure out Facebook?”

“...yes.”

Finally it comes. “ _Oh my **god**_.” The relief at saying it almost matches the sheer aggravation that comes with it. “I can’t believe you— What kind of— Why would you _do_ that?”

There’s no hesitation in him. “Because I like you.” Maybe he’s thinking she’ll ask him why—and she’s not going to ask, she has a feeling it involves her being pretty, like it always does with guys—because he says, “You’re strong, and kind, and smart. You can’t hold your liquor and you’re friends with a conwoman and you stuffed snow down my shirt as part of some weird courtship ritual. You don’t take my bullshit. I like you.”

Weirdly there’s this kind of burny pressure behind her eyes. Almost like she’s about to cry, which is ridiculous, because why would she cry over something like this? Except the burny feeling is only getting worse.

“You like me?” she says. It comes out sniffly and awful and she kind of wants to punch herself in the face.

“Yes,” he says. By now he should sound exasperated because she’s been ridiculous this whole conversation but instead he sounds almost soft. Tentative, like he wants to treat her gently, as he says, “Yes, I like you.”

“What’s your name?”

“It’s Zuko.”


End file.
